


Gone

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2018) [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: (Rachel's here in spirit), Angst, Drama, F/F, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Mid-Canon, Romance, Sexual Content, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: There was something undeniably weird about getting off to a girl who might be dead.





	Gone

_God,_ Max thought, _I’m weird._  
  
Rachel Amber was beautiful.  
  
Emphasis on ‘was’, because the odds of her still being alive by this point were pretty slim. People who went missing for months without a word of goodbye or contacting any of their loved ones, especially teenagers, generally did not come back. It was a sad, simple fact that the beautiful girl in the missing posters was now and forever going to be known by ‘was’.  
  
She _was_ beautiful.  
  
She _was_ wonderful.  
  
She _was_ Rachel.  
  
And Max _was_ currently getting herself off to mental pictures of Rachel after having some very unusual dreams about the girl.  
  
_This is sick,_ Max thought bleakly. _She’s dead. She’s probably dead. I’m masturbating to a dead girl._  
  
But in her mind’s eye, Rachel wasn’t dead at all. Even in pictures you could see the life in her eyes, in her face, in every fiber of her being. It wasn’t difficult to picture her now, picture her standing in Max’s room, sitting on Max’s bed, touching Max’s face and  
shoulder and chest.  
  
Max’s active imagination supplied extraneous details: A honey-scented shampoo in Rachel’s hair, which hung over her face (Max could practically feel it ticking her skin), the feeling of Rachel’s shirtsleeves brushing against her sides, heat radiating from her body (that wasn’t actually there). Max could turn back time, but she couldn’t turn it back far enough to have a chance at an actual, real encounter. This was as close as she was going to get.  
  
As things progressed, Max naturally began to picture what was under Rachel’s clothes. She pictured Rachel in the same outfit Chloe had leant her, the one she said had been Rachel’s, and now Max pictured her removing the red-and-black flannel, then the white t-shirt, then the black one underneath, and then Rachel looked more like she had in the photo in Chloe’s room: She wore that elaborate black bra, and short-shorts that showed off her long legs.  
  
Max, still being bitten by guilt over masturbating to the image of a (likely) dead girl, somewhat hesitantly imagined the curve of Rachel’s breast, imagined even more reluctantly running her hand over it. She did not, however, imagine Rachel completely naked; at least for now, that was a level of weird Max didn’t want to go to, imagining the live, healthy body of a girl who was probably dead because she was horny and felt like masturbating tonight.  
  
Try as she might- and maybe it was because she was closer to climax than not- Max couldn’t quite conjure a voice for Rachel, at least not anything that felt right to her. A voice was more difficult to imagine, perhaps, because there were such subtle differences between one person’s voice and another, a thousand little factors going into the pitch, as well as the person’s speaking patterns.  
  
Max couldn’t think much after that, because she’d come to the part of masturbation where she was close enough to orgasm that she couldn’t really concentrate on the minutiae of her fantasies. It took another minute or two, with only her imagining how it would feel to have Rachel pressed up against her, before she finally climaxed. Orgasms have, for the relatively short amount of time Max has been masturbating, always been an inelegant experience for her: A lot of uncontrollable shaking and noises that were best left unheard by anyone else.  
  
And when those byproducts of bliss had come and gone, and Max was finally coherent enough to realize, completely and without the haze of lust, what she’d been doing, she covered her eyes and groaned.  
  
“I’m so _weird_ ,” She whispered, shaking her head. “Rachel, if you really are dead, please don’t be freaked out by that.”  
  
It occurred to Max that if Rachel was dead she probably had bigger problems than her best friend’s _ex-_ best friend rubbing one off to her image. In fact, if everything she’d learned about Rachel so far was true, she might even have been flattered.  
  
_But it’s still weird,_ Max thought as she pulled the blankets up and tried to go to sleep. _It’s still super, super weird. **I’m** super-weird._  
  
She fell asleep.  
  
And despite her regrets, Max dreamed of honey-haired girls with bright blue eyes.  
  
-End


End file.
